


tuesdays and thursdays

by harklights



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-24 15:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harklights/pseuds/harklights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>futakuchi works movie concessions over the summer and he's so bored that he fucks with like everyone and is probably on the verge of getting let go if the Looks his boss cuts him are any indicator, whatever, but then this guy starts coming in way too much. he's not so bored anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tuesdays and thursdays

**Author's Note:**

> this is a silly and completely indulgent ennofuta idea that hit me the other day. i typed it quick so it’s a lil sloppy (i'm posting this on the way out the door rip me let me know if you see any glaring mistakes) anyway Enjoy!!

Kenji’s launching his second race of scrunched up straw wrappers when someone taps him on the shoulder and says, “The evening crowd is coming in. I think we need someone else on the register.” 

Well before straightening up Kenji has an easy response ready to fire off, something sweet and ruthless and, most importantly, utterly dismissive of the suggestion that he be required to assume more responsibility, but when he turns around it’s Sakunami standing there with a pleasant smile stuck on his face, arms dangling beside the green work smock with the ugly logo that no one but the most proper employees keep wearing past their first week on the job. And look at those eyes. They’re trained on him patiently, tinged with hope that he’ll accept the proposition. Sakunami’s the type of person who radiates sincerity, an eagerness to do well, and the gusto to actually _do_ well. Despite being one of the youngest employees there he somehow manages to have the backs of the whole team. He’s reliable but not a pushover. Well-mannered but not meek. Once he even raised his hand when he had something to say to Kenji and the unintentional act of schoolroom deference was unfairly cute. These traits are nearly impossible to rebuff and fling back into the kid’s face without feeling like some sort of demon, because Sakunami would then turn around to ask someone else for help or, worse, assume the responsibility himself without much complaint. 

Kenji’s been digging for Sakunami’s dark side for weeks – pet peeves that set him off, questionable fashion sense, willingness to have his shoulders commandeered as an arm rest - but he’s beginning to suspect that, other than the occasional huffiness, there are none. He might be a saint. An angel even, with the smile to match. It’s still on his face now, a little hesitant the longer Kenji takes to answer, but no less pleasant than before. He can’t do it. The earlier retort shrivels and dies on his tongue. Banal as the task is, Kenji’s got some of most experience working the front. Due to the small staff they’re pretty flexible when it comes to dividing labor. He’s not doing anything here except scrunching up straw wrappers and dropping water on them to watch them wriggle around.

“Yeah, I’m on it,” Kenji mutters, swiping the wet curls of paper to the floor behind the counter. 

“Thank you!” Sakunami’s renewed smile is brilliant enough to make him want to shade his eyes. He doesn’t, but watches the other return to his station. Behind him Koganegawa hits his head against the prepackaged bags of pink and blue cotton candy dangling from their overhead perches for the hundredth time. It’s only slightly amusing anymore, even when he leans over and lets Sakunami laughingly pat the top his head. Kogane is an eager one too. _Over_ eager, like a lug of a golden retriever who doesn’t realize his tail is slapping into someone’s face over and over again, which could be more endearing if he had an ounce of competence in his gangly limbs. He doesn’t. His flagrant inexperience causes a disturbance nearly every day. Nothing about the cinema changes and yet Koganegawa manages to jam some body part against something or fumble a handful of something and make a mess of things. He cries at the drop of a hat sometimes too, a real ugly crier, complete with great big tears marbling the corners of his eyes and a bizarre pout of the mouth that also could be endearing if it weren’t chased by loud declarations of ‘I’ll try harder’ that are impossible to ignore.

Kenji’s reluctantly fond of everyone. 

Kenji is also simultaneously trapped with the most and least competent people who have ever stepped foot in the movie food concessions business, and only the freezing cold aircon blasting through the vents from morning to night convinces him that he has not actually been thrown into the pits of hell.

He lifts the concession stand’s partition and ducks out onto the floor. 

The lobby is spacious, the carpeting atrocious. The theater isn’t terribly crowded right now. They show a lot of popular movies that draw in the most people, but also feature a smattering of obscure indie titles and documentaries that bring in hipsters and their evolved form, cultured adults.

Off to the side Kamasaki’s sweeping around one of the tables. Kenji spots a spill of popcorn on the floor and veers to the side so he can accidentally step on it. Each crunch and pop probably bursts a blood vessel somewhere in Kamasaki’s head. His mouth slants into a scowl and he grips the broom staff tighter. Even his cheeks begin to take on an angry, assaulted shade of red as Kenji presses another delicate footstep atop some uncrunched kernels. They give a satisfying crackle.

“Futakuchi,” Kamasaki sputters darkly.

“My dear Kamasaki,” Kenji begins, and then he assumes the violent cheeriness he knows gets under the other’s skin. “You better roll your sleeves down before you tarnish our good establishment’s reputation! Are you trying to show off? They’re so tight that you’ve missed a spot here! If you ever need some help all you need to do is ask!!”

It’s too easy. Kamasaki starts fuming. “If you think you can come over here and… screw around with… You brat…”

There’s no Aone around to do damage control and Kamasaki’s brute enough to turn a cleaning item into a bludgeoning weapon, so Kenji uses the force of Kamasaki’s rage, which seems to have rendered him briefly speechless, to perform a swift exit.

\--And there’s his boss, sitting in one of the chairs-on-stilts surrounding a high table like he’s a permanent fixture, like one of those cop cars that camp on an empty side street where literally everyone goes over the speed limit just to catch a couple petty law infringements as easily as possible. Kenji nearly hears sirens blaring in his ears as their gazes lock and hold. And really, it’s not like he can meekly look away now. He’s been caught in the act of antagonization. There’s still popcorn stuck to the sole of his shoe. Oiwake’s got his arms crossed and his legs spread open in pose that instantly boosts his machismo factor through the roof, but the thing is that the seedy bouncer look works for this man. He doesn’t need to say a word. His slicked back hair and the severe, disapproving slant of his eyebrows speak volumes. _Try something else and see what happens, Futakuchi,_ it tells him. _Be more serious about this. We’re running a service here. You have been toeing the line for weeks and one day you’re going to overstep it, then you’ll be out of an honest paying job. Who do you think will hire you then?_

Futakuchi bows. Oiwake’s chin tips up an inch.

“Is this a shakedown from a goon?” Futakuchi mutters around a faked smile that also garners him absolutely no points. Oiwake doesn’t bat an eyelash. They’ve come to an impasse. Kenji turns and keeps walking to the front.

“My savior,” Sasaya drawls as he squeezes behind him to get the second cash register going.

“You say that every time.”

Sasaya laughs and says no more. He waits with a casual cock of a hip as two teenaged girls count out exact change from their wallets. 

Sasaya is one of the hardest people to truly faze. He’s not hot blooded or easy to rile, he tends to hang in the background and go with the flow of things, and he can take a joke without weathering so much as a scratch, but sometimes Kenji’s able to weird him out enough to make him lapse into silence, even if the achievement costs him a shred of pride.

There’s no time to do anything like that today though. Sasaya’s line quickly splinters off and Kenji has to get to work whittling down the early evening crowd.

Bored after an hour of menial labor, Kenji’s gaze travels over the remaining people clumped in line. He happens to catch someone’s glance. They look at each other, straight in the eyes, but then they guy has the gall to glance to the side like he’s considering swapping lines. Customers diverting their gazes happen all the time, but Kenji’s so bored that he sinks his claws into this one and marks him for future provocation. Kenji notices he’s crumpling a few bills a second later. He drops his gaze and finishes counting out the change, handing it over along with the receipt, a smile, and finally the ticket that comes popping up from below the counter.

The line sluggishly moves forward until, at last, his mark is there before him.

“Hello,” Kenji greets, donning a winsome smile.

“Hi,” the guy says, either unaffected or uncaring of Kenji’s inviting expression, and then gives him the name of a movie while taking out his wallet. 

“That one’s terrible,” Kenji smoothly responds.

“I’m sorry?” He looks like he’s just woken up. His blink is slow and confused.

“The movie you’re about to see,” Kenji repeats with the pointed enunciation one uses for children, “Is terrible.”

The unprompted comment from someone who’s only supposed to be a means to a movie ticket seems to make him uncomfortable. Kenji’s strayed away from the normal employee-customer script and this guy doesn’t know how to switch to improv. His eyes dip to the side, probably searching for a hidden camera or signs of a punch line to make everything less awkward and, when finding nothing of the sort, says, “Okay.”

That’s it. _Okay._ He doesn’t even look back up. No indignation, no follow-up, just lukewarm passivity.

In that moment Kenji decides he’s boring. 

“Can I see some id?” Kenji continues, and for some reason that’s the comment that has the person reacting. The guy smiles. It’s baffling. Kenji knows asking an obvious underage person for identification to watch an R rated movie is kind of a dick move (as he’d intended it to be), especially in this day and age when kids can watch worse violence and sex on the internet for free, but now this guy is smiling slow and small like he’s more amused than irritated, and Kenji’s all at once hit in the face with the thought that he’s kind of cute, and that his eyelashes look stupidly long when they’re lowered like that.

Shit.

“Will this work?” The other’s pulled something from his wallet in the meantime, holding it out. He makes direct eye contact and holds it so steadily that Kenji can’t tell if he’s shy or what.

Kenji looks down and grabs the card. It’s a school id. Kenji stares at it. There’s not much information on it, just a tiny photo that doesn’t do him any justice _(shit)_ , a name of a school he’s heard of before, and the basic name/year/class/barcode information. It’s not proper identification and they both know it. 

He’s been quietly one-upped and he’s not sure how he feels about it. 

Except a second later the confusion clears into a _yeah, okay_ and a want to push him some more, to see if he could fling something that this guy – this Ennoshita Chikara – wouldn’t be able to recover from. Kenji’s got a bad personality and knows it well enough that he can’t help but fuel it whenever possible, and he’s just found some interesting fodder.

But before he can open his mouth and say anything more someone in line lets out a pointedly rude cough and a comment on how long the register is taking.

“Enjoy your horrible show.” Kenji happily wishes.

“Thanks,” Ennoshita says without missing a beat, “I will.”

**  
Two days later when he spots Ennoshita in line he’s nervous as hell and it’s ridiculous, almost as ridiculous as seeing two movies in two day’s time, but he can’t shake the anticipation growing in his stomach by the time Ennoshita stands on the other side of the counter, remembering how nearly everything he said rolled off his back like it was nothing. He’s had two days to marinate on their encounter and he still hasn’t come up with a single remark that wouldn’t sound lame or forced or uncool, so when Ennoshita finally draws up to the register all Kenji has to offer is a tight-lipped smile.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” Ennoshita says, followed by the name of a movie and show time, and then, “You gave me a student discount last time.”

“Did I?” Kenji replies, jabbing buttons on the register. “How nice of me.”

Ennoshita sticks out his credit card. God, he’s probably the type who got a card right after getting into high school so he could get a head start on a good credit score. Kenji swipes it; Ennoshita taps on the keypad. “I didn’t know there was one, so… Thank you.”

“Yep.”

“And it wasn’t terrible.”

“What?”

“The movie I saw last time. You seemed to think it was bad, but it wasn’t really.”

“…Okay,” Kenji responds after a too long pause, passing the card, ticket, and receipt over. “Enjoy your show.”

**  
Kenji beats himself up over that response for a while.

They miss each other on some days. At least, he thinks so. He thinks he sees a head of black hair and sleepy features in the crowd sometimes, but it’s hard to tell from a distance.

“Why twice a week?” Kenji asks when they encounter each other again in a move that may or may not have been orchestrated on his part. He’s at the concession stand this time, handing over a medium-sized fountain drink. “Did you just break up with someone?”

“Pardon?”

Ennoshita gives him that flat-out confused blink again, looking like he suddenly wants to get their transaction over with as soon as possible, but Futakuchi’s still got his hand around the cup and it’s honestly kind of weird, the both of them at a stalemate holding onto the same medium-sized plastic cup, but this is the most probable theory Kenji has come up with and he’s not letting go until he gets an answer.

“You’ve been coming in by yourself every Tuesday and Thursday for the past two and a half weeks, which is a ridiculous amount of times and a huge waste of money, by the way. Have you ever heard of movie hopping?” The look on Ennoshita’s face cuts his righteous tirade on financial responsibility short, and he realizes what he’s just said.

Shit.

Someone saves him the humiliation of having to respond by coming up and nudging Ennoshita in the side, distracting him long enough for Kenji to yank his hand off the cup. He grimaces when the new guy, whoever he is, ignores Kenji completely and reaches for the drink like it belongs to him.

It hits Kenji that it probably can. People meet each other past the ticket booth all the time. He feels incredibly dumb for not considering this sooner, so wrapped up in the ‘lonely loner’ theory as he was.

“I said it a few minutes ago but I’d like you to know that I hate you, Chikara, and one free drink won’t make up for it.”

“I know,” Ennoshita says, “We’re still watching it.”

“No,” the newcomer says. He has messy short brown hair and a small, discontented frown on his face.

“It’s more like suspense than pure horror.”

“Yeah right.”

“If you’re weak with horror you should have gone for something else!”

Ennoshita returns his attention to the counter. Kenji’s mouth won’t stop moving; he’s smiling with a lot of teeth.

“Unless you like torturing others with things they don’t like. Doesn’t that remind you of a schoolyard boy pulling a girl’s ponytail to show that he likes her?”

The new guy, _whoever he is,_ has sharp cat-like eyes but he’s definitely nervous, fidgeting when Kenji stares at him for too long. Ennoshita looks at Kenji strangely too, eyes filled with something like concern. Kenji shuts up and makes himself as busy as possible ringing up their orders, just the one drink, and sending them on their way.

Luckily there’s someone waiting in line behind them so he only has to watch Ennoshita hesitate for a few seconds before moving away.

**

He doesn’t spot Ennoshita again for four days, which is totally normal because no one in their right mind watches movies that often, but he still feels jilted of his chance to redeem himself from an incredibly lackluster (Boring! Lame! _Not jealous!)_ performance. And then he feels stupid for feeling jilted.

After that exchange the guy probably isn’t interested in talking to him again. He’ll see him at the register and switch lines for real this time. Maybe even switch to another theater altogether. Not that Kenji cares. Go ahead and switch! When did he become so invested in this? _Not that he is._

Kenji’s angrily shoving wads of napkins into their dispensers when the manager swings by.

“Hey, captain,” Kenji throws up a two-finger salute. Moniwa pauses, looks at Kenji’s less-than-perfect job with the napkins, and sighs. 

“I told you guys to stop calling me that.”

“It suits you. If you changed your name tag to ‘Nice Guy’ no one would notice.”

Moniwa pauses again, probably trying to figure out if Kenji’s words were really a compliment or not. What he says has nothing to do with that though.

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” Kenji straightens up. “Why?”

“It’s nothing.” And then, finally, when Kenji crumples another stack of napkins. “Can you please do those over again?”

**

“This is so unfair,” Kenji bemoans, “What did I ever do to deserve this? Is it karma’s sick idea of revenge? People are starting to notice, Aone.”

Aone shifts and says nothing, but Kenji doesn’t need to look to know that his friend is paying attention. Aone’s always been a good listener.

Kenji groans, tilts his head back and considers the thin crack running across the ceiling. They’re both on the couch, Aone sitting up properly and Kenji stretched on his back with both arms cradled behind his head and his long legs slung over Aone’s lap. He's not sure if Aone is totally appreciative of being used as a temporary leg rest, but he's uncomplaining and Kenji only does this when something’s really weighing on his mind anyway. Things like consoling pats on the shoulder make him want to shirk away, but having Aone’s solid presence within reach always does wonders when he needs to air his worries out.

“Do you think I’m overreacting?”

Aone sternly shakes his head in the negative. Kenji huffs and drops his head back down. Of course Aone wouldn’t call him out for being wound up and dramatic. He’s allowed to flounder over a crush like any other teenager. Isn’t he?

“Aren’t I?”

“What?”

“I guess I do like him,” he admits carefully, testing how the words feel on his tongue. It’s not as painful as he thought it would be. It’s actually a little refreshing to broadcast his feelings to the world – or at least to Aone and the shitty little living room they’re sitting in. Having feelings for another boy doesn’t shake him either. He’d always known the potential was there. “There’s just something about him.”

Aone looks utterly lost with Kenji’s thought process, but he looks over and says “If you think too much you’ll never talk to him like normal.”

“Like normal,” Kenji repeats. “Sure. I can do that. Normal. What’s normal?”

Aone pats his leg in the same way he often pats the heads of stray cats.

**

Kenji practices being normal for the brunt of his shift.

Sakunami asks if he’s feeling well.

It doesn’t seem to matter anyway. Kenji doesn’t see Ennoshita at all in the hour he manages to elbow Sasaya away from the front register, who only puts up a semblance of a fight so it looked like he was doing his job.

Now Kenji’s sulking behind the concession stand again, knowing that somewhere in the world karma really was laughing in his face, when someone approaches the counter. Kenji somehow knows it’s him even before he looks up, and all his good practice goes flying out of his head.

Kenji looks around for Sakunami or, higher power help him, Kogane, but Ennoshita’s leaning on the counter in a way that’s clearly supposed to be engaging and harder to ignore without being totally rude. He’s got seriously nice looking arms. There’s definition in his forearms and all he’s doing is leaning on the counter. He has to lift. And hell if Kenji ever thought he’d think something like that and feeling butterflies over it. He’s still supposed to be mad but he knows that’s bullshit, holding on to weak anger and avoidance just because seeing his crush go to the movies with someone like normal- _Act normal,_ he reminds himself--

“Do you want to see a movie with me?” Ennoshita says.

Sakunami, who had reappeared in the midst of Kenji’s internal crisis, fumbles a carton of chocolate covered biscuits he was restocking onto the counter, the contents clattering noisily. It’s so clumsy that Kenji knows he’s listening in now, but he can’t even spare the effort the care because he’s being asked out in right in his work place, in the middle of a shift, and he can’t find a single way to excuse the heat creeping up the back of his neck. 

He at least manages to close his mouth after moment, but his voice is embarrassingly loud when we croaks out a “Yes! I mean--”

“Okay,” Ennoshita cuts in, plain and simple just like the first time they met, but Kenji knows enough now to read the relief in his voice and the way his shoulders relax. “Thank God.”

“Wait, you were nervous?”

“Of course I was. After I came with Hisashi it felt like I did something wrong but I didn’t know what, and I didn’t want to make assumptions or be wrong about… well, you know…”

Kenji grins. It feels more like a smirk. He’s too keyed up to control whatever’s happening on his face.

“About everything,” Ennoshita finishes lamely. “I mean, I’m…” he gestures a hand at himself and when Kenji still doesn’t interject he continues with, “And you’re…” That same gesture. “You know.”

He knows what he’s getting at. He’s flattered and would usually agree with the flawless assessment, but right now he wants to hold a mirror up to Ennoshita and tell him that he’s freaking hot. He wonders if it would be wildly inappropriate to drag him over the counter and kiss him.

“Um… Can you say something?”

“I don’t know,” Kenji blurts. “With the way you act so calm all the time I was building up a theory arguing that you might not be totally human. You just ruined my theory so I’m reveling in this moment. Or maybe you’re really good at hiding your true nature?”

“Oh my god,” Ennoshita groans. “Shut up.”

“You just told me to say something.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe something normal.” 

_Normal._ Kenji takes a breath. “How about ‘please give me your phone number’?”

Damn, he looks so nice when he smiles like that, slow, small, and somewhat surprised. Kenji passes a napkin and pen over and watches Ennoshita write down a row of numbers.

“Is that a seven?” Kenji scrutinizes the napkin.

“One.”

“One… five? Six? Your handwriting is way worse than I thought it would be.”

“It’s not that bad,” Ennoshita grumbles, pulling his phone out a second later. Kenji takes the offered device and taps his number into a new contact, types ‘Futakuchi Kenji <3’ in the name part, and hands it back.

“Don’t change anything,” Kenji adds when he sees Ennoshita’s thumbs moving over the screen.

“Mm,” Ennoshita hums, putting the phone away to look up through his lashes, which isn’t very fair. “So… I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah. Later,” Kenji breathes, unable to thank of anything more by the time Ennoshita turns away. A beat passes before Kenji flings half his body over the counter and shouts, not caring who hears, or about the rack of gift cards he upends in his enthusiasm, “Text me as soon as possible! I work part time every day from twelve to five! Don’t be a stranger!”

Ennoshita’s steps falter but he doesn’t turn around. Kenji chalks it up to embarrassment and shamelessly watches him walk away. _Cute._

Ennoshita pauses to wave at Sasaya on the way out, who nods and immediately begins a polite golf clap that, to Kenji’s utter horror, gets picked up by the rest of the staff members and a few very confused customers. Kenji whirls around. Sakunami looks genuinely happy, clapping nicely like he’s at an award’s ceremony and Kenji’s just been handed a prize. Kogane’s just clapping up a damn storm. Someone else wolf whistles, long and seductive, and Kenji turns a burning gaze toward Onagawa, who has the nerve to look him straight in the eyes and do it again.

Kenji’s only solace is that, when he groans and glances back toward the entrance, Ennoshita looks as mortified by the spectacle as he feels while rushing out the door.

**  
Kenji insists on going anywhere but the location he works at, knowing that he’d have to face teasing and curiosity from his coworkers. So they work out a date for the following Sunday through text and agree to meet at a train station and ride all the way out to Sendai. In the days between they call and text so much that it’s probably a little sickening, even if all they do is talk and joke rather than flirt around. Much. 

Chikara – he becomes Chikara after the first full day of rampant texting (and getting caught texting thrice during his shift) – stays up so late so often that Kenji re-proposes his theory of otherwordly origins again. He learns that the other is terrible at managing his sleep and always has been, especially during the summers when his obligations slacken; that he can pick up on nearly every film reference Kenji drops, even the obscure ones he double checks online; that his sense of humor is all at once dry and lively and wonderful; that he’s practically unflappable against everything except straightforward praise; that he prefers calls to texts but needs to be shoved and whined into a video chat; and that the blurry webcam doesn’t do him much justice either.

By the time their Sunday date rolls around they’ve gotten closer than Kenji expected in such a short period of time, and he has absolutely no complaints about it.

The summer day is a hot, cloudless expanse of blue sky accented by the chirp of cicadas. Kenji languishes in a strip of shade beneath the station overhanging, glowering at the shimmering waves of heat curling off the streets and sidewalks. He doesn’t mind waiting but it’s fucking hot, and he’s already beginning to sweat by the time Chikara emerges on the horizon.

“Sorry I’m late!”

“No problem. Did you run here?”

“A little…” Definitely slightly out of breath; his voice is airier than usual. Chikara brushes at his bangs with the back of a knuckle, then flaps the neck of his shirt a few times. Kenji catches a peek of collarbone. “I got distracted and left home too late. I hope I didn’t make us miss a train.”

“It should be fine. You look nice!” Kenji looks him over from head to toe. Chikara grunts and stops fussing. Bull’s eye. 

Kenji smiles and pushes into the broiling sunlight, squinting down at Chikara. He must have around ten centimeters on him. He has to admit that it’s nice, especially when Chikara inclines his head a little and stares. Kenji’s brown eyes turn paler in the sun, and he likes that too. “We’re not running on a tight schedule anyway. Unless you went and bought the tickets online without telling me?”

Chikara blinks and looks away. “I didn’t.”

“Good. Let’s go!”

Kenji leads the brief walk into the station. When they get close they both hear the sound of an incoming train pulling in and immediately make a break for the doors before they slide closed. Of course when they get there the cars sit at the platform for a full minute before pulling away, and Kenji grimaces at having to run for absolutely no reason.

The train’s aircon soothes his irritation. It’s cool, they manage to find two seats next to each other, and they slip into a compatible silence as the train lurches and rolls on the tracks.

“When I showed up at the theater with my friend,” Chikara says some time later, “What were you thinking?”

“I wonder.”

Chikara knocks their shoes together. “Come on.”

Kenji’s shoe gets assaulted again when he doesn’t offer a quick answer.

“I thought you were on a stupid date,” Kenji grumbles, staring straight ahead, but he glances to the side when Chikara doesn’t respond. “Don’t look so happy!”

“It’s just… It's not the first time that's happened with a friend, and I was sure you wouldn’t be interested. I thought we were still playing our game.”

"What game?"

"Where you pull my hair and I put up with your bullying."

"I'm not going to respond to that."

Chikara smiles.

Kenji decides to change topics. “You keep saying stuff like that, that I wouldn't be interested, but you know you’re pretty cool.”

The smile wanes. “I don’t know about that.”

“Hey,” Kenji says just as the train slows to a stop and the doors silently slide open. The car’s suddenly swamped with commuters heading to Sendai for the weekend and Chikara deftly gives up his seat for an elderly woman. He at least stays close, grabbing the handle in front of Kenji. Kenji frowns, parts his legs wider to accommodate him, and notices how Chikara can’t look him in the eyes for the next five minutes.

When the seat next to him vacates again Kenji pesters him until he sits down.

“You don’t think I would want to date you?” Kenji picks up as if their conversation never got interrupted.

Chikara looks both reluctant and resigned. “It’s… only been a little while since we started talking and I think it would be _unlikely—"_

“Dude, what do you think we're doing? You’re the best thing that’s happened to me all summer, and I’m not just saying this because I work at a lame fucking job. I would be thinking the same thing if we met any other time. You think you’re all boring or whatever but you’re this sweet witty guy who— _See?”_

Chikara has a palm against his own face, hiding an expression of embarrassment. Kenji grabs his wrist to remove it and they devolve into a minor shove fest right there in the middle of the train. 

“Let me take a picture,” Kenji insists, grunting when his elbow knocks against a metal pole. “Wow, Chikara, you’re so rough." His elbow gets knocked again and the sting makes him wince. He's never proposing a serious arm wrestling match. "It’s always the quiet ones!”

“You’re lucky my hands are occupied,” Chikara replies, floundering when Kenji raises both brows and tightens his grip on Chikara’s wrists when he tries to pull away. Staying still like this they're practically holding hands.

He eventually gets shaken off, grinning when Chikara mutters, “You are the worst.”

**

“I never sit this far back,” Chikara comments as they take the final few steps to the back of the theater and step into the very last aisle.

Kenji claims a seat near the middle and makes his feet comfortable on the back of the seat in front of him, ripping open the pack of overpriced sour gummies he bought. “It’s fine when it’s a small theater. Being too close to the front for a two hour movie gives me a headache.” 

“I guess so,” Chikara says with his usual patience, sitting to Kenji’s left. Chikara typically doesn’t eat anything when he goes to the cinema and Kenji is more disappointed than he’d like to admit that they couldn’t do the cliché of sharing snacks and bumping hands in the middle of grabbing for the same thing. But it’s whatever. It’ll make it easier to suggest they go grab a bite to eat later on.

Chikara spends the first few minutes expressing shock and awe for how quickly Kenji ploughs through his gummies. They take turns swapping reactions to a couple previews, or shredding on them when neither of them finds it very interesting. Once they laugh so loudly that several scandalized heads turn in their direction, but Chikara’s poor attempts at stifling himself only makes him laugh harder, chest aching by the time it dies down.

The lights are dimmed save for a few mood-setting sconces. They’re near to the projector so that the beam of light raying out to the screen illuminates Ennoshita’s face just enough to reveal the blush on it when Kenji wipes his sticky hands on his jeans and leans closer. 

“Kenji?” he hears the second before cupping a hand over Chikara’s cheek and slanting their mouths together. It’s soft and sweet, lasting only a moment before breaking away, but the pause lasts only a second too, long enough for Kenji to see that Chikara’s eyes are already closed, a small smile on his lips. Kenji’s heart does a heavy, fluttery _thing_ that he smothers by reconnecting their lips again, twice, thrice in small increments until Chikara’s slowly chasing his mouth, leaning so far over that the arm rest between them must be lodged against his side. It makes Kenji smirk until Chikara’s hand comes up and holds him still, cool fingers cupping the back of his neck like they belong there. Chikara swipes his tongue over the seam of Kenji’s lips and hums a low note that has Kenji’s thoughts unraveling into an inelegant chant of _holy shit hol-lee shit…_

“The movie hasn’t even started yet,” Chikara mutters against him, and Kenji can barely hear it over the rush thundering in his ears.

“What’s that?” Pulling away feels like coming up for air, light and breathless, but the heaviness in Chikara’s eyes when he blinks them open threatens to drag him under again. “Were you planning on doing something once it did?”

“Yeah,” Chikara responds, stopping Kenji’s mirth cold in its tracks. Chikara leans back in, near enough to feel his breath puff against his skin, and his eyes are so dark up close, lashes dark smudges against his cheek, eyes half closed with faint circles painted beneath them like he really doesn’t manage to get enough sleep in a day. His voice is soft enough that Kenji has to strain to hear it over the loud audio, and what he does hear is low and nice. “I wanted to surprise you with it, but once the previews ended and the lights went down…” Their legs bump together and it inexplicably makes Kenji blush when Chikara doesn’t draw away. He can’t care enough to think how silly that is. He’s too busy hanging on every word that falls from Chikara’s mouth. “I was planning on doing something like _watching the movie…”_

“Oh, fuck off,” Kenji violently whispers and wrenches away, swallowing down his thundering heartbeat because fuck if he thought Chikara was capable of doing _that._ He folds his arms across his chest and sinks deeper into his seat, feeling scandalized. He feels kind of proud too, a thrill buzzing beneath his skin from head to toe, warming his blood, and he can’t even chafe much when Chikara’s laughing the fullest laugh he’s ever heard from him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You are not.”

“I’m not sorry.” Chikara wipes at an eye. “Sorry.”

_Ugh._

It takes fifteen minutes for Kenji to fully concentrate on the movie when it begins.

Halfway through he lets Chikara hold his hand.


End file.
